


there's still a light in the house

by jolie_unfiltrd



Series: jon x sansa drabbles 2021 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Bittersweet, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28771572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: Jon wakes, gasping, nearly falling out of the mid-century modern bed onto his newly refinished floors, filled with a panic he does not recognize, an urgency in his chest.His hand gropes blindly on his bedside table for his phone, pulling on his glasses as he scrolls through his contacts, as he dials the number. He doesn't recognize what he's doing or who he's calling until he hears the familiar, yawning voice on the other line."Jon?"---jonsa new year drabbles, day 1:dreamstitle from valley, there's still a light in the house
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: jon x sansa drabbles 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116518
Comments: 20
Kudos: 96
Collections: Jonsa New Year Drabbles





	there's still a light in the house

Jon wakes, gasping, nearly falling out of the mid-century modern bed onto his newly refinished floors, filled with a panic he does not recognize, an urgency in his chest.

His hand gropes blindly on his bedside table for his phone, pulling on his glasses as he scrolls through his contacts, as he dials the number. He doesn't recognize what he's doing or who he's calling until he hears the familiar, yawning voice on the other line.

"Jon? Are you alright? It's six in the morning."

"I - " He pauses, trying to remember why he had to call her, why he had to hear her voice, to know if she's okay. It all seems rather silly, now. "I'm alright."

Just some haunting vestiges of a dream that he could barely recall.

Jon rubs his hand across his chest as he listens to her voice, as he fades back into sleep.

*

Jon wakes, gasping, tearing off the duvet cover and wandering the chilled halls on bare feet until he stumbles into the Great Hall, until he sees her.

"Oh, Jon," she says, quiet as a field mouse and regal as a queen, rising from her seat and gliding to him, heavy skirts swishing against the stones and blue eyes concerned. "Are you alright?"

It is only once he has seen that she's okay, that she's alive, that her cheeks are flushed with warmth, that he looks around and realizes that he's interrupted a meeting with Sam, Tormund, Lord Glover. They stare at him as if he's a ghost, as he if ought to be a ghost.

It is only then that he seems to realize he's in a simple shirt, soaked through with sweat, and trousers loosely tied at his waist.

It is only then he feels the bandages wrapped firmly around his abdomen, his ribs.

It is only then that he notices the blood soaking through them.

"I -" He clears his throat. "I'm alright," he says in that familiar Northern drawl, ignoring the way it feels foreign on his dry lips.

Sansa does not believe him, that much is clear, and her eyes grow wide and alarmed as he starts to sway on his feet, calling for Sam and Tormund to help support Jon under the shoulders, to help bring him back to his chambers, to settle him into bed. 

"You're injured, Jon. You must rest."

Jon can't remember how he got here, what happened to him - he only knows that he feels tired, so tired...

*

Jon wakes, gasping in the night, and groans at the sensation.

It has been weeks of this, months, and he is no closer to understanding these dreams than he was the first night.

He dreams of her in long skirts, hair done in intricate braids around her head, lit by the firelight - and he wakes and he reaches for Sansa.

The phone is in his hand before he can blink, but he stops himself, restrains himself, as he has successfully done every time but the first, no matter how wrong it feels.

No matter how much he longs to hear her voice, to know she's okay.

There's no logical reason for the panic, for the racing of his heart, for the tension in every muscle of his body.

Sam called it a panic attack, but Jon knew that wasn't quite right.

His therapist would surely have a lot to say about it, but he hasn't been able to talk about it with him, not yet.

Jon can't shake the image, this morning, of the way her porcelain skin would look under the glow of torches, the gleam on her braid, the warmth of her smile - a smile he's never seen, not like that.

He rubs at the spot on his ribs that always aches when he dreams of her, pulling on his glasses and grabbing a book from his bedside table. He won't be heading back to bed, not after another dream like that.

But a knock sounds at his door, startling him out of his reverie.

Jon pushes out of his bed and walks down the narrow hall, brow furrowed and feet bare.

Dawn is only beginning to sink tendrils of light through the windows.

He opens the door.

"I - I'm sorry, I know it's early, I just -" Sansa shakes her head, winding her hair around her finger in a nervous gesture he recognizes. Her eyes flick up to meet his, and he thinks, at once, of sapphires and wolves and sitting by the firelight. "I had to see that you were alright."

Jon does not think, does not wait for caution and protocol and decorum to guide his motions - he simply opens his arms and lets her step into them, as if they've always fit together like this, as if they always would.

She wraps her arms around his waist and tucks her head into his neck, sighing and relaxing at the feel of him, solid in his arms.

Jon knows the feeling.

*

Jon wakes, gasping, flinching at the feel of dried blood around his hastily patched wounds, looking around the wooden room with blurry eyes, sinking back into the furs as he recognizes the exact shade of auburn at his side.

It can only be one person, and it is the only person he can think of, the only person he cares about.

"Sansa?" he asks, voice rusty from disuse.

"I'm here," she replies through her tears. "I'm alright."

Jon does not ask if he's alright.

He knows the answer.


End file.
